BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

O 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


iiiJ 


By 

Capt. 

John 

L 

Lewis 

Mill  J,  IEMS 
KISIR  OLD 


book 
th< 

< 'a phi  in       John       I. 

'"is.     has     been     published     and    sent, 
the    hook    reviewers.     The    volume' 
small    and    contains   the    manv   inci-  I 
"'•    "-    vveu-known     westerner's  [ 

is    prominent    among 
authors  and   literary   i, 
™g     written     several     volumes 
etr"    -1---* 


t 


Points    Out    His   "Squatte 
Claim"  He  sold  for 
$T\  2. 


bo°fc*      fie    is    cfOSe    JViend    of! 
;i     MiHen    and     has     visited     the' 
ierr;j     it,  mt    . .,->  1  n 


. 


' 
rnty  lnfirmary- 

forty 


the 


man\ 

l^-wis'     historx     .,r 
present    time     tells 

Periences    in    cros«!ng    the  'western^, 

aina    during-    the    early   !5fr8    and    hisf 

^^^--''•^-n-u'yjauntsan.on^i1; 

;    u'l!(1;s    °r    this    state    duHng       the 

m'M'r  .<lays-   is  intefesting  ]-eadin 

aptjjin    Lewis    was   in   San   Jose 

>    |n    his    way    to    Paradise    v;ilVv.j; 


of  his 

*i^ 


his 

°Wn   TOUnd 


Ills     hilt     <r»     -fu  26K     Which     fa-H     Dfli 

••ll-t>-    in     LilQ-   JlllI.S. 

the^  traUs°"of  dthhe   GVJ1    reta^ne^'  ma^ac 
-'    -  tun6  W3ll*s  a  selection  o: 


one  time  a  mem- 
I  the  Sa^^rZt  I",r°SSi,ng  °Ve' 

the   sole   inhabitants  of  U^ttecf   Uh°    Wer€ 
hill   region   <n    *>,^^^    ^^  Leandro  i 

frier 

I  itpd '  KTr"*+u1'w<:;HUA"    ivillier,    and    was    vis, 
itea    oy   thn    nopt   ?n    v.4      t. 

<es   m    ms    home    in    Butt^ 

|rs€™-?»=-™".«";| 
si££5?l™.-»«4 
IW^SSHil^ 


My  Garden  of  Roses 


•    w 

Or  the  'Footnotes  of  Life 


r- 


111 
le 
it 

ie 
r- 
?r 
d 
n 

id 


"  MY  GARDEN  OF  ROSES 


"My 


of 


T 
J. 


a 


r, 


Roses,'  is 

r  by    our 

Lewis,  of   Biggs      It 

iPgpPbyand   an    ac- 
of travel   over  the   plain 
from  the  east  to  California.    Fol- 
lowing  the  argosy  is  an  interest 
ing      story    of     the     trials   and 
struggles    of    a    mining    camp 
Throughout  all  the  boo^theS 
a  quamt  philosophy  and  a  happy 
strain  of  content  with  the  goods 
the  gods  provide.     Mr.Lew^in_s 
dulges  his  poetic  vein   at  inter- 
vals and  the  thought  and  the  dic- 


Mr   fcH       inguand  aPPealin: 

to  VhJ f    r^r*8,  born'    accordir 

is J   •    ™tle    book'   March   1; 

Tr,    IS^Q    ™rern  county,  Indians 

n  ,-i       •  Mr>  Le^is    started   fc 

California,     in     company 

Martin     and     Daniel     M 

ine     motive   power    for     thei 

waogns    was    a    long    string    o 

oxen      Ihey  fell  in&with    Cap 

tain   Smith's  train   and    contin 

ued  throught    he   dangerous   In 

dian   country  in  their  company 

Buffalo  were  seen  by    the    mil 

lions,  sometimes  being  necessary 

to  turn  .aside  to  let  a  great  herd 

JciSS. 


Copyright   by  JOHN   I.    LEWIS. 
(New  Edition) 


EM 


A  queen  would  abdicate  her  throne 
To  reach  the  heights  of  nature's  own. 

When   trouble   come 

There  was  but  one, 
She  stands  the  oak  as  well  as  vine; 
This  dearest  darling  wife  of  mine. 


FT  <i  3 


ii 


FIDDLE 
ftT  PORJOLft  FE1E 

Pioneer   of   Butte   County   in 

Bay  City,  Ready  for  the 

Big  Festival. 

Special  to  the  Union. 

SAN    FRANCISCO,    Oct.    11.— CaptainJ 
,ewis    has    come      to      town      for      the . 
>ortola.      Captain  John  I.  Lewis   is   his 
ame  in  full  and  he  lives  at  Paradise,  , 
Butte  county.     He  is  79  years  old, 
he  just   couldn't   resist   the   call  of   the  j 
•arnival.     He  says  so  himself. 

He    is    a    retired    rancher,    but    he    is 
more  besides.     For  one  thing  he  Is  dou- 
bly   a   pioneer— he      came      across      the 
plains  twice  by  ox  team.     For  another, 
ie  was  a  close  friend  of  Joaquin  Mil- 
ler, and  one  of  his  most  cheri'shed  me- 
mentoes is  a  photograph  of  himself  ta- 
ken at  Miller's  side  at  the  latter's  home 
at   The  Heights.     And  besides,   he  is  a 
non   tiddler.     Fiddler   is   thejjgrjg, 
—not    violinist.      Captain      Lewis 
taken  first  prizes  at  the  state  fair  witfc 
nis  fiddle  and   is   proud  of  it. 

Mthough  he  was  born   in  1834,  in  In- 
diana,   he    looks    every    inch    a    pioneei 
He  came  across  the  plans  for  the  1 
time    in    1853,    and    again    in    I860,    thj| 
latter    year    being     captain     of    his    ox] 
team,     "in    that   capacity    he   walked    oJ| 
ran    three   miles    for   every    mile    of 
trail '••+• 


a    bit 
open 


sides    all     these 

nnr<    derring-d 
of   a    poet. 


chjafactftristjcs    of 

C; 

which    he 

his  in       h< 

bis  love  r 

;t    wa«  known   to   L! 
od    in    it.    1.1  nd.- 
arden     of     >: 
told    his1  life    history—  a?    interes'  • 
story  as  any  to.  be  found  in   Bret  Harte. 
After    paying-    San    Francisco    a    brief 
visit  he  started  to  jog-  on-  down  the  pe- 
ninsula to  San  Jose,  to  visit  his  son,  W 
L.    Lewis.      Pie    will    stay    there    a  'few 
days,    and    then    come    back    to    the    rity 
for  the  Portola.     Pie  'spends  most  oi  hill 
time    in    an    open    wagon. 

Up  in  Butte'  county  he  has  four  other 
sons,  and  it  would  be  hard  to  tell 
whether  he  is  prouder  of  any  of  his 
vnried  attributes  than  he  is  of  his  fam- 
Hy. 

tney? 

PIDL»  DANDIES. 

!      They  ^Wc.  „    -  lose  oldtime   fid- 

dlers.    'They    played    the    tunes    that 
your       great-grandmother       used      to 
:  dance     by,     and  your    grandmother,     : 
I  you  are  not  so  very  young.     Old  Ca^ 
tain    Lewis    from    Indiana,     83     years 
old,   who   got  the  most  applause   last   . 
night,    must    have    been    playing    that 
same  old  hune  for  the  last  50  years. 

It  was  almost  a  tie  between  him 
and  McClellan,  74  years  old,  who  was 
born  in  Nova  Scotia. 

"Those  old  boys  had  a  great  tim 
as   Billy   Jordan   put   it,    after   he  h 
"let    'er    go."     Billy    was    one    of    t 
chief    attractions    of     the     "Fiddl 
Conten"'     special    feature    this    we. 

:*iio:   the   em4y   professional   of   the   1 
Billy    is     ,the    ladies'    special    tr< 
The  vete-ran   prize-fight  announcer 
not   often  a  ppeared   before  a   "mi 
audience.     }  3ut  he  did  his  stunt  wl 
out  any  *sli  ow   of   embarrassment 
Introduced  .  each  fiddler  with  the  s 


PREFACE 

I  tried  to  leave  out  everything  that 
didn't  comport  with  the  title  of  my  book. 
I  will  not  chronicle  man's  inhumanity  to 
man.  Everything  in  this  world  goes  to 
the  highest  bidder ;  then  pay  the  price  and 
be  a  man.  I  want  to  share  the  profits  of 
my  little  book  with  both  Caroline  Rachel 
Miller  and  my  girl  in  the  shipwreck. 

Be  brief,  my  child,  be  brief,  be  brief; 
\Ye  swung  our  scythe,  we  bound  our 

sheaf ; 

We  ploughed  our  corn,  we  fed  our  kine, 
And  drove  our  team  with  a  single  line. 


As  friends  we  meet  in  Seattle  town; 
In  the  red-glared  West,  where  the  sun 
goes  down. 

Good,  cheer,  my  child !  do  not  repine ! 

'Tis   the   year   of    our   Lord,    nineteen 

hundred  and  nine; 
Yukon,  Seattle,  where 

A  summer  solstice  in  a  land  of  fir. 
But  should  you  chance  to  go  away, 

Someone  will  ask,  then  you  wall  say : 
"I  bring  this  little  souvenir 

From  Captain  Lewis,  the  old  pioneer." 


Stanza  First. 

Young  Jewelled  City  by  the  Golden  Gate 
From  every  nation,  from  every  State, 
We  come,  we  come  to  celebrate 
And  climb  on  the  P.  P.  I.  E.  band  wagon 
O  the  joke  was  complete  when  we  walked 

up  the  street  to  climb  on  the 
P.  P.  I.  E.  Band  Wagon. 

Stanza  Second 

O  the  most  wonderful  things  in  the  most 

wondrous  fair, 

Go  see  them  all  and  guess  what  they  are ; 
But  the  grandest  of  all  are  the  faces  we 

greet ; 
When  we  climb  on  the  P.  P.  I.  E.  Band 

Wagon. 
O  the  joke  was  complete  when  we  walked 

up  the  street  to  climb  on  the 
P.  P.  I.  E.  Band  Wagon. 


Stanza  Third 

O  the  Zone,  the  Zone,  with  her  talent  in 

State, 

Her  torid,  her  frigid,  her  more  temperate 
Go  visit  each  star  in  her  colors  so  rare, 
When  you  climb  on  the  P.  P.  I.  E.  Band 

Wagon. 
O  the  joke  was  complete  when  we  walked 

up  the  street  to  climb  on  the 
P.  P.  I.  E.  Band  Wagon. 


Stanza  Fourth 

In  long,  long,  after  years 

Perchance,    perchance   our   children   will 

greet, 
When  and  where  did  your  parents  first 

meet  ? 

Down  on  the  P.  P.  I.  E,  Band  Wagon. 
O  the  joke  was  complete  when  we  walked 

up  the  street  to  climb  on  the 
P.  P.  I.  E.  Band  Wagon. 


My  Souvenir  Page. 


Our  world  is  made  up  of  degrees, 
The  best  of  the  day  is  the  dawn. 
I  address  this  page  to  the  B's 
To  Beauty,  to  Brains  and  to  Brawn. 

The  great  Sea  has  married  the  Ocean 
Made  one  by  Gotheals,  the  High  Priest. 
A  world  lifts  a  hand  in  devotion. 
Their  darlingest  first-born  is  peace. 

Two  souls  did  meet — two  souls  so  lonely 

apart, 

Two  souls  did  greet, 
Yes  here  is  my  hand  and  my  heart. 
More  precious  than  sister  and  brother 
Two  souls  that  were  born  for  each  other-- 
Adolphus  and  Placiadia  of  late 
To  unite  in  Peace  every  nation  and  every 

state. 


His  home  is  where  hurricanes  blow  ter- 
rific 

She  is  more  fair  and  her  home  Pacific 
His  age  only  19 
While  hers  is  barely  15. 
He  stands  a  god  so  lithe  and  straight 
Yes  we  are  gods  and  can  create 
She  seems  a  star — in  Peace  or  War. 
On  such  a  splendid  starry  night, 
Who  would  not  be  a  satellite? 

When  the  Frenchman  chose  that  he  go 

wooing 

She  chanted  low  "There's  nothing  doing.*' 
When  our  own  Roosevelt  placed  his  pen, 
O,  there  was  something*  doing  then 
One  shrill  screech  of  the  Eagle's  scream 
Had  changed  to  real  a  wondrous  dream. 

On  San  Francisco's  shores 
Where  she  used  to  stray 


A  woi  Icl  has  met  to  celebrate  their  nuptial 

day 

On  other  shores  in  other  lands 
Perchance  you'll  clasp  with  gentle  hands. 

I  bring  this  little  Souvenir 

From  Capt.  Lewis,  the  old  Pioneer. 

— Captain  Lezvis, 

Lone  Oak. 


My  Garden  of  Roses 

~  ^*r 

I  was  born  in  Warren  County,  In- 
diana, March  15,  1834,  in  a  log  cabin. 
There  was  a  cluster  of  log  cabins  and  the 
old  block  house  was  there ;  the  cabin  was 
built  of  hickory  logs,  and  old  Hickory 
was  born  the  I5th  day  of  March.  There 
was  more  expected  of  me  than  the  or- 
dinary boy  baby.  The  first  I  remember 
both  grandfathers  and  uncles  were  there. 
Grandfather  Lewis  was  born  in  Alber- 
marle  County,  Virginia.  He  was  a  fol- 
lower of  Fox,  the  first  Quaker,  and  a  rel- 
ative of  Captain  Lewis,  the  explorer. 
Grandfather  Statzell  was  a  Pennsylvania 
German;  both  grandfathers  were  soldiers 
in  the  war  of  1812.  The  old  Bible  was 
our  guide.  My  mother  read  poetry  and 


14 

told  us  about  the  great  authors.  I  soon 
learned  to  read  for  myself.  I  can  repeat 
passages  from  the  poets  I  love  all  day 
long. 

Warren  County  lies  on  the  border  land 
between  Grand  Prairie,  running  west 
through  Illinois,  Iowa  and  still  beyond, 
and  the  woodland  running  to  the  Atlan- 
tic, the  two  Pine  Creeks,  Big  Pine  and 
Little  Pine,  named  from  the  pine  trees 
growing  on  the  banks. 

Does  the  pine  trees  stand  by  the  mill  now  ? 
Has  the  creek  where  we  swam  gone  dry? 
Does  the  wild  flowers  bloom  on  the  hill 

now  ? 

Does  the  bluff  by  the  dam  look  so  high  ? 
Does  the  girls  that  we  loved  look  so  gay 

now  ? 

Has  time  told  the  tale  without  a  sigh? 
Would  she  sing  us  a  song  of  to-day  now  ? 
Would  she  sing  as  in  days  gone  by  ? 


u 


i6 

The  beautiful  groves,  Parrish  Grove, 
and  her  sisters,  White  Oak  Grove,  North 
and  West  Hickory  Groves,  Walnut  Grove 
and  the  legends  that  surround  them. 
Parrish,  the  great  chief  of  the  Kick- 
apoos,  his  daughter  Princess  Lalala,  used 
to  wander  in  the  wood  and  over  the 
plain  while  she  wandered  with  her  proper 
escort  beyond  the  Wabash.  She  was  led 
captive  by  a  Prince  of  the  Tippecanoes 
and  never  returned.  No  doubt  she  was 
woeed  honorably  and  was  the  wife  of  a 
Prince,  but  Parrish  was  dissatisfied  that 
no  one  else  should  go  beyond  the  Wabash 
to  revel  in  the  woods.  He  created  an 
Arbor  D'ay,  and  all  of  the  young  men 
and  maidens  came  in  spring  time  and 
planted  trees  that  rival  the  groves  of 
Daphne. 


February  15,  1853,  Martin  and  Daniel 
McDade  and  myself,  with  our  oxen  and 
;  wagons  well  fitted  for  the  trip,  started  to 
cross  the  plains  to  California.  We  camped 
the  first  night  in  Parish  Grove.  We 
crossed  the  Missouri  River  the  first  of 
May. 

Alert  my  boys,  you  are  now  in  a  land 
Where  the  only  law  is  your  own  strong 
hand. 

Going  up  the  Platte  River,  the  season 
was  very  wet.  We  were  in  Captain 
Smith's  train.  The  Elk  Horn  fork  of  the 
Platte  River  was  overflowed ;  we  made 
three  canoes  of  the  small  timber  that  grew 
on  the  banks,  and  bolted  them  together, 
with  a  rope  tried  to  a  tree  on  either  side. 
Three  men  started  on  a  trial  trip.  About 
half  way  across  the  boat  turned  turtle 
and  two  men  were  drowned,  one  swam 
ashore.  There  was  a  very  large  emi- 


i8 

g-ration  that  year.  Thousands  of  cattle 
in  droves ;  we  could  see  the  same  on  the 
south  side  of  the  river,  before  we  reached 
Laramie.  I  think  I  saw  more  than  a  mil- 
lion buffalo.  They  came  from  the  south, 
crossed  the  river  and  traveled  north.  We 
often  stopped  our  train  to  let  them  pass. 
We  saw  only  a  few  above  Laramie.  By 
an  agreement  with  the  McDade  brothers 
we  walked  all  the  way  across  the  plains 
to  save  our  team.  We  drove  team  cav 
about,  one  day  on,  two  days  off;  we 
often  went  in  to  the  hills  north  of  the 
Platte  Valley  with  our  rifles;  brought  in 
deer,  antelope,  hare  and  grouse.  Often 
we  didn't  get  back  to  the  road  until  12 
o'clock  at  night.  The  wolves  would  sur- 
round us  and  travel  along  with  us,  a 
dozen  or  more  together ;  they  had  a  way 
of  cracking  their  teeth  that  made  nigl  t 
hideous. 


19 

From   every    State   in   the   Union   we 
were  fellow  travelers  that  created  a  sort 
of  Freemasonry,   in  passing  and  repass- 
ing  we  became  acquainted  with  a  great 
many  people.      We    spent    the    evenings 
visiting;  the  old  violin  would  be  brought 
in  to  play.    We  often  danced  cotillions  on 
the  green.     I  had  often  heard  of  the  sim- 
ple life   of   the   Indian   in   our   rambles. 
North  of  the  road,  sometimes  ten  miles 
out,  we  never  saw  his  habitation.     The 
Oiliahas,  the    Pawnees    and    the    Sioux 
would   come   in   from   the   hills   on   their 
ponies   with   a   friendly   salute.     On   one 
occasion  we  met  500  Sioux.     They  were 
on  a  sort  of  dress  parade;  they  looked  as 
near  alike  as  so  many  shot  dropped  from 
the  same  tower ;  six  feet  tall  with  Roman 
features   with   no   care  of   the  morrow. 
Why  did  Pope  call  him  Poor  Lo?    While 


20 

I  pen  these  lines  rememberance  makes  me 
glad,  and  we  have  substituted, 
These  lords  of  the  plains, 
With  more  bullion  than  brains. 
We  have  passed  Laramie  and  the  wet 
season  that  makes  our  picnic  more  pleas- 
ant. On  over  the  Black  Hills,  up  the 
Sweetwater  River,  to  the  Independence 
Rock,  named  by  Captain  King  on  4th  of 
July,  forty-nine.  Independence  Rock 
covers  about  three  acres.  It  is  a  sort  of 
porphyry,  easy  carved  with  a  jack  knife. 
When  we  passed  there  in  1860  the  sur- 
face1 was  covered  with  names  and  dates: 
carved  there  by  the  traveler.  If  time  has 
not  effaced  these  names  I  will  propose  to 
the  association  for  the  preservation  of 
old  land  marks  to  petition  President 
Roosevelt  to  set  it  aside  for  a  national 
museum.  The  Devil's  Gate,  near  Inde- 
pendence Rock,  is  a  perpendicular  cut, 


21 

about  300  feet  high,  where  Sweetwater 
River  passes  through.  The  Pacific 
Springs  on  the  summit  of  the  South  Pass 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  here  are 
two  roads  that  diverge  so  wide.  Rachel, 
your  people  are  going  to  Oregon;  my 
people  are  going  to  California.  We  have 
walked  more  than  a  thousand  miles  to- 
gether. Yes,  we  can  correspond;  your 
address  will  be  Oregon,  mine  will  be 
California.  Good-bye,  Rachel. 


22 


Rachel,   we  have  walked  more   than 

a  thousand  miles  together. 
Some   days   were   bright, 

While  other  days  some  clouds  did 

gather. 
'Tis  years  and  years,  did  I  falter,  did 

we  part. 
Oh,    no!    I    held    this    image    in    my 

heart. 


23 

Out  west,  through  the  sagebrush  1 
walked  all  alone.  I  address  this  page  to 
Rachel  Miller,  Oregon,  On  Over  Green 
River,  down  Echo  and  Emigrant  Can- 
yons, in  Great  Salt  Lake  Valley.  GreLt 
Salt  Lake  City  was  a  small  town  then. 
Here  we  met  the  Mormon  and  his  two 
wives,  as  they  glided  around  at  their  do- 
mestic affairs.  I  wondered  what  they  are 
thinking  about.  The  Mormon  was  sup- 
posed to  be  unfriendly  to  the  traveler.  On 
up  the  valley,  through  the  mountains  to 
City  Rocks.  City  Rocks  is  a  cluster  of 
buttes  or  peaks  that  show  the  freaks  in 
nature. 

On  down  the  Humboldt  Canyon,  down 
the  river  to  the  sink.  From  the  sink  of 
the  Humboldt  to  the  Carson  River  is 
forty  miles  of  heavy  sand.  We  started 
from  the  sink  at  3  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, drove  all  night,  arrived  at  the  Car- 


24 

son  River  next  day  at  noon.  Here  we 
met  the  enterprising  Yankee.  He  had 
laid  his  squatter's  claim  and  fenced  it 
with  a  tow  string  fence  and  charged  us 
12  1-2  cents  a  pound  for  hay.  Up  Car- 
son Canyon,  this  is  the  roughest  road  we 
have  found  since  we  left  the  Missouri 
River.  On  over  the  Sierras,  through  the 
Carson  Pass  to  Hangtown,  now  Placer- 
ville.  The  State  of  California  is  now  at 
its  best. 


The  beardless  youth. 

I  was  a  beardless  youth  in  that  proud 
throng  of  fair  women  and  bearded  men 
who  braved  the  savage  and  the  desert 
sands,  climbed  over  the  mountains  down 
into  these  beautiful  valleys,  fresh  from 
the  hands  of  God.  I  have  passed  the  high 


26 

noon  of  life.  I  have  pitched  my  tent  in 
the  twilight  now;  my  lamp  light  is  the 
after  glow;  life's  sun  is  sinking  low,  so 
low  I  saw  some  stars  when  my  sun  went 
down.  It  was  before  the  reign  of  Em- 
peror Norton;  we  had  failed  to  re-locate 
gold  lake.  News  came  from  the  far 
north,  the  first  from  out  the  State, — how 
that  gold  nuggets  were  blocking  the  chan- 
nels of  Frazer  River,  like  flake  ice  on  the 
Mississippi.  We  took  passage  on  the  old 
Ellinita,  a  small  sailor  of  the  Columbus 
model.  About  one  hundred  of  us  who 
had  scraped  bedrock  before,  and  about 
twenty-five  English  sailors :  a  man  and 
his  wife  and  their  daughter,  a  very  pretty 
girl  about  18  years  old.  I  have  noticed 
when  there  is  only  one  girl  in  camp  she 
is  always  a  very  pretty  girl.  We  left 
the  wharf  in  the  evening  and  anchored 
in  the  bay.  When  the  sailors  began  to 


27 

pump  the  water  out  of  the  ship,  one  man 
said  this  .old  tub  shall  never  sink  me;  he 
rolled  his  blankets  and  took  a  boat  for 
shore.  I  said  hold  on,  pard,  till  I  roll 
my  blankets,  and  I'll  go  along.  But 
Rusty  says  good  ships  as  well  as  bad  ones, 
have  to  be  pumped  out,  and  I  didn't  want 
to  be  called  nervous.  The  lucky  man  for- 
feited his  ticket  and  I  got  the1  full  benefit 
of  mine.  It  was  one  of  San  Francisco's 
fairest  May  mornings.  With  our  backs 
to  the  sun,  our  faces  to  the  sea,  in  a  sort 
of  quiet  way  we  set  sail  for  our  Klondike. 

We  were  out  for  the  stuff, 

A  kind  of  metal  where  the  Klondike 

flows, 
And  no  mortal  has  ere  found  enough. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  boundary 
dispute  must  be  settled  between  the  Am- 
ericans and  the  English  sailors.  We  were 
all  full  of  Pat-Riot-Ism.  At  last  the  bat- 


28 

tie  was  on.  There  was  enough  of  us  to 
form  the  ring  and  our  English  cousins 
could  look  over  our  shoulders  like  a  hus- 
band after  his  wife  had  been  declared  a 
sole  trader.  Our  Forrest  City  boy  won, 
and  the  Isle  of  San  Juan  was  ours  by  con- 
quest. We  were  startled  by  the  Captain 
and  his  two  mates  trying  to  put  the  cook 
in  irons.  The  cook  was  a  big,  strong 
fellow.  The  mate's  held  his  arms  while 
the  Captain  tried  to  shoot,  but  his  pistol 
failed  to  go.  The  passengers  interfered 
to  save  life.  The  cook  went  down  in  the 
forecastle  with  the  sailors ;  it  was  a  go  as 
you  please  from  this  on.  There  was  no 
more  meals  served;  we  were  allowed  ac- 
cess to  the  ship's  store  of  pickled  pork 
and  flour.  What  huge  white  cloud  is 
that?  It  is  a  squall  and  in  the  mists  of 
that  squall  we  had  run  almost  on  top  a 
big  sharp  rock.  Wei  were  so  near  I  could 


29 

have  tossed  a  ball  on  it  as  easy  as  throw- 
ing down  to  the  second.  I  didn't  know 
but  it  was  a  common  thing  for  ships  to 
flounder  around  among  the  rocks  before 
striking  the  main  channel,  but  when  I  saw 
our  old  French  Captain,  a  brunette  of  a 
very  pronounced  type  with  white  cheeks 
and  trembling  lips,  standing  on  deck,  giv- 
ing orders  to  the  sailors  to  tack  ship,  I 
knew  we  had  come  very  near  striking 
bedrock. 

Two  men  are  down  sick.  Our  doctor 
called  it  the  small  pox,  and  when  it  didn't 
kill  he  pronounced  it  Japanese  measles.  I 
asked  the  doctor  if  he  thought  we  were 
near  enough  the  coast  of  Japan  to  catch 
the  measles.  He  said  he  thought  we  were. 
AYe  are  now  long  ovef  due;  we  are  now 
in  the  dreaded  calm  belt;  we  have  been 
on  an  allowance  of  one  pint  of  water  for 
days.  This  morning  we  are  told  there  is 


30 

no  more  water  aboard;  we  held  a  miner's 
meeting  and  appointed  a  committee  of 
"'where  are  we  at."  I  was  one  of  the 
committee;  we  were  instructed  to  use 
'diplomacy,  that  masterful  art  which  en- 
ables weak  nations  to  live  by  the  side  of 
the  strong,  and  which  has  made  it  pos- 
sible for  man  to  live  with  woman.  Cap- 
tain, this  is  a  regularly  appointed  commit- 
tee from  your  passengers  to  consult  with 
you  about  the  best  means  of  escaping  this 
horrible  fate.  We  are  willing  to  cancel 
our  ticket  for  Victoria.  We  are  willing 
to  go  back  to  San  Francisco,  Sandwich 
Islands,  Japan  or  Siberia.  We  didn't  like 
to  be  serious;  we  cracked  some  jokes.  I 
asked  the  Captain  when  he  thought  the 
wind  would  blow.  I  would  not  pose  as  a 
funny  man.  Yu-kon  never  tell  where  the 
fool  goes  out  and  the  fun  comes  in.  It's 
none'  of  your  business;  I  am  running  this 


3' 

ship.  We  made  our  report;  it  was  a  sad 
disappointment ;  we  will  throw  him  over- 
board; we  will  hang  him  to  the  yard  arm. 
The  days  went  by;  each  day  we  sent  in 
another  committee  more  fierce  and  threat- 
ening. I  will  say  in  deference  to  the 
French  nation,  he  never  surrendered. 
Talk  about  sulking  in  your  tent.  I  think 
old  Achilles  must  have  been  a  naturalized 
Frenchman.  It  has  been  the  puzzle  of  my 
life  why  we  continued  our  war  on  the 
old  Captain,  and  why  he  didn't  tell  us 
where  we  were.  He  could  have  told  us 
anything.  I  gave  an  enterprising  fellow 
four  bits  for  a  flap- jack  made  of  flour 
mixed  with  water  dipped  from  the  Pacific 
Ocean.  One  bite  was  enough.  Don't 
never  go  to  sea  and  perish  in  a  calm. 
There  is  a  grandeur  in  the  storm  that 
makes  heroes  of  us  all.  Each  day  we  have 
the  same1  scene;  praying,  sulking  and 


32 

cursing;  and  in  my  delirium  I  saw  the 
same  old  sun  rise  and  go  down  in  the  sea. 
It  takes  me  so  long  to  die.  Are  we  get- 
ting a  square  deal?  While  some  of  the 
boys  stood  by  with  revolvers  in  hand  to 
keep  order  Rusty  and  I  went  down  in  the 
ship  to  ransack  for  water.  We  found  one 
barrel  partly  filled  with  water.  We  soon 
lifted  it  bodily  to  the  deck.  Our  first  mate 
was  an  Englishman  with  a  small  head  and 
shrill  piping  voice.  He  stood  in  the  back- 
ground harping  on  the  majesty  of  the 
law,  and  the  penalty  for  mutiny.  English- 
like  he  was  always  around  next  day  pull- 
ing the  scab  off.  Our  second  mate  was  a 
thoroughbred  American,  one  of  those  kind 
of  fellows  who  would  bet  on  the  metal 
in  a  caseknife,  and  while  we  took  that  last 
drink  that  long  afternoon  in  June,  I  saw 
more  than  a  hundred  cups  tipped  to  my 
girl,  and  I  wasn't  jealous.  Let  Penelope's 


33 

suitors  no  longer  stand  as  masters  of 
revelry.  I  was  the  youngest  man  aboard 
and  perhaps  the  best  looking  and  one  of 
the  chief  mutineers,  and  I  watched  for  a 
glance  of  her  eye,  and  I  was  going  to  say, 
but  she  was  looking  the  other  wray.  Since 
I  left  my  old  home,  perhaps  courtship  has 
been  reduced  to  a  science;  is  not  love-mak- 
ing older  than  the  classics ;  is  not  little 
cupid  older  than  the  schoolmaster  ?  Who 
ever  heard  .of  a  scientific  courtship,  but 
then  I  have  not  even  tipped  my  hat  to  a 
girl  for  years-.  Such  gross  neglect  and  all 
for  gold. 

Your  gold  that  caused  so  many  joys  and 

groans, 
Is  only  fit  for  paving  stones. 


Waiting  for  me  to  sow  my  wild  oats — 


Did  I  go,  did  I  dare,  did  I  do? 
She  reminds  me  of  one  so  fair — 
This  beauty  of  Butte. 


35 

And  haven't  I  a  girl  back  home  wait- 
ing for  me  to  sow  my  wild  oats?  But 
perhaps  she,  too,  is  in  some  sort  of  a  ship- 
wreck with  another  fellow;  but  then  I'm 
not  making  love;  I  am  only  submitting 
to  circumstances,  and  from  that  circum- 
stancial  love  a  race  might  spring  who 
would  live  on  almost  indefinitely;  no  more 
use  for  the  Osier  snuffbox,  and  our  chief 
magistrate  stew  no  more1.  There  would 
be  no  more  danger  of  puncturing  your 
tire;  no  one  would  get  tired.  No,  I  will 
wait  until  we  have  rolled  the  last  man 
overboard,  even  to  the  old  Captain,  and 
then  I  will  have  an  open  field  and  our 
marriage  will  be  made  certain.  The  sun 
gees  do\vn,  he  seems  to  set  more  slowly, 
the  sea  is  smooth  as  ever.  We  go  below, 
not  to  sleep,  but  to  shut  our  eyes  against 
this  horrible  fate.  Early  one  morning  old 
Calaveras  came  flying  clown  stairs.  O 


36 

boys,  the  wind  is  blowing  and  you  never 
saw  anything  skute  so  in  all  your  life. 
Old  Calaveras  was  from  Calaveras  Coun- 
ty, and  formerly  from  Arkansas,  so  you 
may  know^  about  how  he  looked.  The 
wind  blew  on  for  days.  No  one  said  a 
word  for  fear  of  breaking  the  spell.  At 
last  the  old  Captain  came  out  of  his  den 
with  his  glasses,  and  says  land,  Cape  Flat- 
tery. In  a  few  hours  every  eye  was  sat- 
isfied; a  change  came  over  the  faces  of  the 
—I  was  going  to  say  dying.  No  one 
seemed  to  want  to  molest  the  Captain. 
Every  estimate  of  gladness  must  be  made 
by  comparison.  Columbus  discovered  a 
new  world,  but  we  were  permitted  to  re- 
turn to  the  old,  and  now  instead  of  trying 
to  invent  excuses  to  our  God  for  a 
privilege  in  another  world  we  began  to 
rebuild  in  this.  As  we  sailed  up  the 
Straits  of  Fuca  the  scene  was  a  delightful 


37 

one.  The  evergreen  pines  grew  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  The  snow  topped  hills 
beyond,  the  sun  had  lost  his  furnace  glare. 
Even  old  ocean  seemed  to  resume  his 
friendly  place  in  nature,  and  my  girl,  I 
never  saw  my  darling  more,  but  when  I 
struck  the  danger  line  I  began  to  cast 
about  for  a  substitute.  Alas,  how  many 
of  us  go  through  life  with  a  bare  sub- 
stitute. 


My  Girl  in  the  Shipwreck. 

Well,  when  the  final  explanation  is 
made  is  will  appear  that  one  pure  soul 
stood  as  ransom  for  us  all. 


39 

When  I  arrived  in  San  Francisco  from 
the  north  I  took  passage  on  a  Pacific  Mail 
steamer  for  New  York.  The  passengers 
were  mostly  young  men,  who  had  made 
their  stake  and  were  going  back  to  their 
old  homes.  One  young  man  was  brought 
aboard  by  his  friends,  suffering  from 
delirium  tremens.  After  two  days  out  he 
died.  After  his  body  was  properly  pre- 
pared the  ship  was  stopped.  Some  pas- 
sengers read  from  the  Bible,  the  body 
was  sunk  in  the  ocean.  As  the  ship  moved 
on  I  thought  of  the  contrast.  He  had 
g*one  the  pace  and  here  is  the  result.  While 
I  was  permitted  to  journey  on  with  per- 
fect health  of  body  and  mind,  with  all  of 
the  high  hopes  of  one  returning  to  his 
old  home  after  an  absence  of  years.  We 
have  passed  the  Isthmus.  Off  Cape  Hat- 
teras  the  storm  is  raging.  I  thought  of 
the  lo^s  of  the  Central  America  only  two 


40 

years  before.  Four  of  the  boys  were  from 
our  camp  Pine  Grove,  Sierra  County. 
Three  of  the  boys  went  down  with  the 
ship.  The  late  William  Ede  was  the  first 
man  rescued  by  the  Norwegian  bark  that 
rescued  thirty  of  the  passengers.  Over 
400  went  down  with  the  ship.  Our  ship 
was  equal  to  the  task.  After  I  reached 
home  I  met  Caroline  Lofland  here  in  Per- 
rish  Grove.  We  made  a  bargain  that  has 
stood  the  test  for  more1  than  forty-seven 
years.  We  were  married  January  23, 
1860.  We  were  soon  on  our  road  to  Cali- 
fornia. When  we  crossed  the  Missouri 
River  I  \vas  chosen  captain  of  our  train. 


The  captain  of  our  train. 


42 

I    must   lock   out   for   wood,   water   and 
grass.     I  must  settle  all  disputes.     I  is- 
sued no  code  of  laws.    I  settled  each  case 
as  it  came  up.     My  authority  is  absolute. 
I  am  more  than  Captain,  I  am  King,  and 
Caroline  is  my  Queen.    I  had  two  divorce 
cases.     Mrs.   C. — was  the  aggressor.     I 
parleyed  with  her;  I  always  had  patience 
to  plead  with  a  woman.     After  riding  in 
her  neighbor's  wagon  three  or  four  days, 
she  went  back  to  her  husband  satisfied. 
The  next  case  was  more  difficult.     Mr. 
R. — was  the  aggressor.     I  argued  with 
him ;  he'  was  on  his  honeymoon,  as  well  as 
1  on  mine.    His  wife  was  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest women  I  ever  saw;  tall  and  splen- 
didly balanced;  the  artist  would  choose 
her  from  a  million  as  his  model.    And  her 
voice,    so1   sweet   and   harmonious.      The 
voice  is  one  of  the  best  gifts  from  God  to 
man.      Why   don't  we   have   schools   for 


44 

training  the  voice  to  talk  as  well  as  sing. 
?\Ir.  R — ,  there  are  no  women  in  Calif or- 
hia,  and  what  a  trump  you  are  trying  to 
discard.  He  still  stood  pat.  Finally  Mr. 
R —  we  will  soon  be  in  Brigham  Young's 
territory,  then  I  will  be  entitled  to  two 
wives ;  I  will  take  her,  she  will  be  mine. 
That  settled  it ;  he  wouldn't  stand  for  that. 
There  are  very  few  travelers  on  the  plains 
this  year.  We  see  only  a  few  buffalo  this 
year — all  going  north,  as  they  went  be- 
fore. I  had  learned  to  throw  the'  Mexican 
riatta  in  the  Sacramento  Valley.  We  con- 
cluded I  should  throw  the  rope  on  a  buf- 
falo and  we  would  put  him  in  the  yoke 
with  old  Buck.  Mounted  on  Brown  Alice, 
I  gave  chase.  I  made  two  or  three  passes 
at  him  when  he  ran  into  a  deep  washout. 
The  buffalo  went  into  the  cut  twenty  feet 
below.  I  came  so  near  going  on  top  or 
him  it  took  all  of  the  fun  out  of  me. 


45 

We  have  come  to  the  lands  of  the 
Sioux.  When  the  chief  came  in  camp  this 
morning,  this  is  my  first  effort  at  diplo- 
macy. He  was  born  a  Prince,  while  my 
authority  is  the  result  of  a  free  ballot  and 
a  fair  count.  He  is  a  splendid  specimen 
of  a  splendid  race.  Six  feet  tall,  while  I 
am  only  five  feet  nine.  While  he  looked 
down  and  I  looked  up  I  did  almost  com- 
plain. 

When  he  took  me'  by  the  hand,  his 
hands  were  soft  as  a  woman's  are,  while 
mine  are  rough  from  excessive  toil.  Surely 
what  wTe  call  civilization  does  bring 
drudgery.  I  assured  him  we  had  plenty 
of  provisions ;  that  my  little  band  would 
not  wantonly  destroy  any  of  his  game. 
He  took  the  golden  bracelet  off  his  own 
arm  and  placed  it  on  Caroline's  arm. 


46 

Take  this  ringlet,  then  you'll  know 
As  friends  you  come,  friends  you  go. 
I  place  this  token  in  her  hand, 
The  Sioux  will  see  and  understand. 

When  we  came  opposite  Chimney  Rock 
several  of  the  bo}rs  waded  the  river  to  in- 
spect it.  My  curiosity  didn'f  go  so  far. 
Chimney  Rock  is  the  greatest  natural 
curiosity  I  ever  saw ;  it  rises  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  high  in  a  land  where  there 
is  no  rock,  and  looks  like  an  old  chimney 
in  a  burnt  district.  The  Platte  River  is 
a  muddy  stream,  one  mile  wide,  three  feet 
deep,  with  quicksand  bottom.  While  our 
statesmen  are  talking  war  at  Washington 
that  broke  out  in  less  than  a  year,  the 
Indians  become  more  warlike.  We  form- 
ed an  alliance  with  Captain  Thomson  and 
Captain  McFarlaine.  We  now  had  sixty 
wagons.  Captain  McFarlaine  was  the 
ranking  officer.  When  we  camped  near 


47 

Fort  Bridger  a  renegade  Mormon  shot 
Mr.  Harris  and  rode  away  on  Brown 
Alice.  I  went  to  the  Commander  of  the 
Fort.  He  said  they  had  a  man  named 
Bender  who  does  their  trailing- ;  he  would 
send  him  over  to  the  camp  next  morning. 
When  he  came  he  was  about  the  fiercest 
looking  frontiersman  I  ever  saw,  and  then 
the  chase,  forty  miles  through  the  moun- 
tains, before  he  came  to  the  road,  and 
then  the  battle  and  burial  by  the  Half 
Way  Rock  in  Echo  Canyon. 

While  we  traveled  up  Great  Salt  Lake 
Valley  we  wrere  often  told  we  would  have 
to  surrender  to  the  Mormon  authorities, 
the  man  who  ran  down  the  boy  bandit. 
We  would  have  resisted  any  attempt  at 
arrest.  On  through  the  mountains  down 
the  Humboldt  Valley  we  had  a  splendid 
time.  Each  night  we  formed  the  horse- 
shoe corral.  After  our  cattle  had  their 


48 

grass  they  are  placed  in  the  corral.  Two 
men  guard  the  open  space  and  two  men 
scout  on  the  outside.  One  man  persisted 
in  tying  his  horses  to  his  wagon  outside 
of  the  corral.  One  night  they  were  stolen 
by  the  Indians.  We  took  the  Honey  Lake 
route.  At  Deep  Hole  Springs  we  met 
Colonel  Lander,  afterwards  General  Lan- 
der, who  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of 
Balls  Bluff,  and  died  of  his  wounds.  One 
of  Mr.  Cs  big  boys  rode  away  on  a  very 
fine  mare.  Mr.  C — wanted  Colonel  Lan- 
der to  bring  him  back;  he  said  he  would. 
When  his  troopers  stood  in  line;-  bring- 
that  man  back  dead  or  alive.  Of  course 
the  family  wouldn't  stand  for  that  kind 
of  a  man  hunt.  We  are  now  in  the  Sacra- 
mento Valley.  Caroline  soon  learned  to 
rock  the  cradle.  We  now  have  a  large 
family  and  a  host  of  ^rand-children. 


49 

\Yhen  I  visited  the  old  camp  at  Pine 
Grove  and  Rowland  Flat,  the  hydraulic 
had  washed  away  the  gravel,  and  as  I 
stood  on  the  bedrock  below,  and  gazed  into 
space  above,  I  thought  of  a  great  many 
happenings  that  took  place  more  than  fifty 
years  ago.  It  was  here  W.  B.  S.  kept 
the  world  appraised  of  the  success  of  our 
mines.  Green  Fore'st  sought  the  bubble 
fame,  writing  literature.  It  was  here  the 
duel  between  Tom  Phant  and  Lue  Hart 
was  never  fought.  Hart  was  a  dead  shot. 
I  went  to  Sam  Morse,  Phant' s  second. 
Sam,  can't  you  get  Phant  out  of  this 
honorably  without  a  fight.  O,  we  will 
never  fight  until  we  are  outmaneuvered. 
Hart  was  the  challenger.  Tom  had  the 
choice  of  distance  and  weapons ;  he  chose 
the  Wabash  Shaft  one  hundred  feet  deep, 
the  weapons  a  bucket  full  of  rocks,  and 


50 

Hart  must  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  shaft. 
He  didn't  have  the  heart  to  go  down. 

On  Christmas  day,  1854,  Dick  Richard- 
son gave  me  a  pan  of  gravel  shoveled  off 
the  bed  rock  in  his  claim  as  a  Christmas 
present.  It  panned  out  ten  ounces  and 
two  dollars.  The  premium  on  the  fine- 
ness of  the  gold  made  it  worth  about  $200. 
Tom  Eaves  had  just  arrived  from  old 
Kentucky.  He  sat  around  his  brother's 
store  and  looked  so  docile.  One  morning 
Fay  Anderson,  who  kept  store  about  two 
hundred  yards  up  street,  came  down  when 
he  said  something  that  didn't  suit  young- 
Eaves.  He  whipped  out  a  long  knife.  An- 
derson ran  for  his  store;  it  was  the  best 
footrace  I  ever  saw. 

Mr.  Blair  had  come  from  Boston  look- 
ing for  material  to  write  a  book.  Says  I 
am  glad  I  saw  that;  I  might  have  got 
counterfeited. 


Lew  Wharton,  Jake  Gould  and  I  lo- 
cated 800  feet  running  to  the  summit  at 
Table  Rock.  The  district  laws  only  pro- 
vided for  100  feet  square.  Our  conten-1 
tion  was  we  were  prospecting  for  a  new 
channel  back  in  the  mountain.  We  had 
gone  to  a  heavy  expense,  bought  a  twenty- 
five  horse  power  engine  in  San  Francisco, 
slid  it  down  the  Slate  Creek  Canyon  on 
the  lap  of  a  tree,  put  it  on  wheels,  and 
pulled  it  on  the  ridge  with  a  block  and 
tackle.  We  ran  an  incline  tunnel  365  feet, 
45  feet  pitch.  Before  we  got  down  with 
our  tunnel  the  miners  had  located  all  of 
our  claim  except  our  hundred  feet  square, 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  district.  One 
company,  headed  by  the  late  P.  J.  White, 
twice  elected  Sheriff  of  Sierra  County, 
and  twice  elected  Sheriff  of  San  Francisco 
County,  went  to  work.  Four  of  our  boys 
went  up  and  drove  them  off  and  threw 


their  tools  down  the  mountain.  They  said 
we  had  taken  the  advantage  of  them;  that 
we  were  armed.  O'ur  foreman  agreed  to 
fight  them  next  day,  eight  men  on  each 
side,  with  Colt's  revolvers.  The  Colt's 
pistol  was  as  deadly  fifty  years  ago  as  it 
is  to-day.  While  they  were  practicing 
down  near  the  Birmingham  Hotel,  we  are 
making  ready  for  the  battle  to-morrow. 
The  priest  happened  in  fom  San  Fan- 
cisco,  and  persuaded  them  to  keep  the 
peace.  I  want  to  thank  the  priest  for 
what  he  did.  I  didn't  want  to  fight.  I 
was  only  with  men  who  did  want  to  fight. 
On  the  1 5th  of  November,  1857,  when  we 
went  down  the  incline  at  4  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  I  says,  "Kinney,  I  am  going  to 
wash  a  pan  of  dirt  from  the  bedrock  be- 
fore our  shift  is  out."  "Q  yes,  you  are  al- 
ways going  to  do  something  great."  I 
could  tell  by  the  color  of  the  water  we 


53 

were  near  the  bedrock.  By  12  o'clock  we 
had  sent  up  eight  carloads  of  gravel  and 
eighty  carloads  of  water,  eighty  buckets 
each.  The  quartz  boulders  lay  on  the  soft 
slate  bedrock  as  if  they  had  been  placed 
there  as  paving  stones.  I  turned  one  over, 
took  a  pan  of  dirt,  washed  it  carlessly  in 
the  water  that  was  coming  in.  It  panned 
out  about  one  dollar.  It  was  the  first  time 
the  blue  lead  was  found  north  of  Forest 
City.  We  called  our  company  the  Bright 
Star.  Two  years  later  the  company  was 
reorganized  under  the  name  of  Union. 
They  bought  the  Ganargua  claim  1200 
feet.  The  Union  Company  worked  from 
fifty  to  one  hundred  men  day  and  night 
for  more  than  twenty-five  years,  and  took 
out  $25,000,000.  The  lead  was  worked 
by  the  Pittsburg,  Hawkeye,  Monumental, 
Empire  and  Bonanza,  yielding  $60,000,- 
ooo. 


54 

Here  was  perhaps  the  only  snowshoe 
club  ever  organized.  They  had  regular 
meetings,  gave  large  purses.  The  snow- 
shoe  is  a  runner  six  inches  wide,  six  to 
twelve  feet  long.  Each  man  had  a  secret 
dope  to  put  on  the  bottom  of  his  shoes 
to  make  them  the  slickest.  The  San  Fran- 
cisco dailies  sent  reporters  to  report  their 
speed.  They  found  them  going  faster 
than  man  had  ever  gone  before.  On  one 
occasion  Snowshoe  Thompson,  after  win- 
ning the  purse,  deliberately  walked  on  the 
summit  of  Sugarloaf  Mountain,  buckled 
on  his  shoes.  Here  is  a  mountain  that 
pitches  fifty  feet  in  one  hundred.  No 
snowshoe  man  would  ever  think  of  mak- 
ing the  attempt,  and  does  he  know  of  the 
late  slide  and  the  awful  chasm  rent.  A 
shriek,  he  is  off;  a  moment  later  Snow- 
shoe  Thompson  was  seen  in  the  mists  be- 
low, slowing  up  with  his  balance  pole. 


55 

Old  Jim  Beckwith  often  came  over 
from  the  valley  to  tell  of  his  exploits. 
He  was  half  black  and  hr^f  white,  and 
awful  gassy  in  camp. 

White  Headed  Ross,  the  man  of  mys- 
tery, rode  out  like  a  plumed  knight  and  al- 
ways in  the  night,  and  afterwards  a  trust- 
ed policeman  in  Marysville.  Captain 
Walker,  brother  of  the  filibuster  in 
Nicaragua,  had  his  recruiting  office  here. 
John  Elder,  a  partner  in  the  Bright  Star, 
enlisted.  I  went  with  him  down  to  the 
Irwin  Hotel  the  evening  before.  He  must 
start  next  morning;  he  went  to  bid  his 
girl  good-bye.  "Oh,  John,  why  don't  you 
stay  with  me?"  "I  promised  Captain  Wal- 
ker." "Oh,  John,  you  promised  me."  I 
soon  saw  this  is  no  place  for  me.  I  met 
R.  Y.  Jackson,  who  runs  the  saddletrain 
that  Mr.  Elder  must  take  next  morning. 
He  didn't  know  of  the  heartache.  Mr.  El- 


56 

der  never  returned.  O  cruel,  cruel  war, 
we  pray  to  the  prince  of  peace  and  we  pen- 
sion the  red  hand  of  war. 


I  had  climbed  the  Oakland  Heights  to 
visit  Joaquin  Miller,  the  poet,  at  his  home. 
Here  is  the  man  who  could  give  utterance. 
I  had  traveled  the  same  road,  dreamed  the 
same  dreams.  Mr.  Miller,  as  I  under- 
stand, you  belong  to  the  whole  world, 
and  I  have  come  to  look  after  my  share. 
I  would  much  rather  visit  you  now  than 
visit  your  tomb  when  you  are  dead. 
"Touch  hands  that  are  flesh  and  can  feel/7 

I  am  going  over  the  ridge  to  visit  my 
old  camp  in  Sawmill  Canyon,  where  I 
camped  more  than  fifty  years  ago.  Be 
back  precisely  at  3  o'clock.  We  are  going 
to  have  a  Modoc  barbecue.  My  invited 
guest  is  Miss  Lagrange,  who  handles  the 


57 

coin  at  the  San  Francisco  Mint.  When 
the  banquet  was  over  I  tuned  the  old 
violin. 

"Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  strayed, 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made; 
And  oft  he  shook  his  hoary  head, 
But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 
The  old  man  raised  his  face  and  smiled; 
And  lighted  up  his  faded  eye, 
With  all  a  poet's  ecstacy." 


3.  <    -      M    ™ 

°-s:ggH 

*o  r?~  s  o  |T{ 

S  p-»^o 


•s-wS  3. 


59 

I  warmed  up  on  Auld  Lang  Syne  and 
when  I  played  The  Arkansas  Traveler, 
that's  enough  to  make  old  Davie  Crocket 
raise  up  from  his  grave.  I  shook  hands 
with  mother  and  Mr.  Miller  and  promised 
to  return  at  least  once  every  year  as  long 
as  I  could  climb  the  heights.  As  each 
season  returned  I  climbed  the  Heights  and 
partook  of  Mr.  Miller's  hospitality.  We 
are  the  invited  guests  now,  my  brother 
and  I.  The  sweet  meats  placed  on  a  stick 
and  held  over  the  coals  by  the  deft  hand 
of  Gertrude  Boyle. 

Yes,  our  passions  in  youth  presage, 
Virtue  and  truth  in  old  age. 
Would  you  abandon  a  thought 

for  lack  of  a  rhyme 
When  the  heart  is  o'er  wrought  ? 
Would  you  think  it  a  crime.     To  make 

love  to  one  so  tender  in  years. 
Would  you  call  it  a  sin  when  we  mingle 

our  tears? 
"Half  yearning  for  something  that  might 

have  been." 


6o 

Among  the  guests  are  Mr.  Whitaker, 
the  novelist;  Mr.  Saville,  the  composer; 
Dr.  Wilson,  the  philosopher. 

The  philosopher  with  his   quill  and  his 

mind  as  pure  as  snow, 
A  nation  can  appreciate  the  seed  of  truth 

you  sow. 
Man's    noble    nature    will    never    truant 

prove, 

While  the  pen  outranks  the  sword. 
While  we  circle  the  banquet  table  mother 

is  gone. 
"There    have    been    tears    and    breaking 

hearts  for  thee. 
And  mine  were  nothing,  had  I  such  to 

give; 
But  when  I  stood  beneath  the  fresh,  green 

tree; 
Which   living   waves    where  thou   didst 

cease  to  live ; 

And  saw  around  me  the  wide  field  revive. 
With  fruits  and  fertile  promise  and  the 

spring. 


6i 

Come  forth  her  work  of  gladness  to  con- 
trive ; 

With  all  her  reckless  birds  upon  the  wing, 
I  turned  from  all  she  brought  to  those  she 
could  not  bring." 

While  we  played  on  the  old  violins  and 
the  Burgundy  went  round,  here  is  a  toast 
to  the  Grand  Old  Chief,  so  my  brother. 

No  mountain  so  high  but  he  has  climbed 

it; 

No  ocean  so  wide  but  he  has  crossed  it; 
My  words  are  true,  I  must  be  brief, 
And   here's    a   toast   to   the   Grand   Old 

Chief. 

We  are  now  on  sacred  ground  and  I  am 
one  of  the  invited  guests.  I  must  be  equal 
to  the  task. 

Yes,  this  world  is  wide, 
Yet  our  Savior  is  our  guide; 
And  sweet  heaven  is  our  goal. 
While  we  journey  along, 


62 

When  we  listen  to  song, 

Our  Grand  Old  Chief  ranks  them  all. 

Farewell  for  awhile. 


How  I  outmaneuvered  Tom  Bell.  Like 
Joaquin  Murietta,  he  camped  in  the  woods 
with  his  band.  I  met  him  at  the  Knox- 
ville  Hotel  on  the  Rabbit  Creek  road.  As 
they  filed  out  of  the  canyon  ten  mounted 
men  with  pack  mules  loaded  with  camp 
equipage,  guns  and  revolvers.  A  little 
boy  about  3  years  old  was  playing  on  the 
floor.  See  them  robbers?  They  are  our 
robbers.  I  only  had  $300  in  my  pocket. 
I  didn't  think  it  would  go  round.  While 
they  stood  by  the  washstand  washing  for 
dinner  I  stood  among  them,  "And  re- 
turned the  chief  his  haughty  stare/'  When 
they  had  all  filed  in  to  dinner  I  ran  into 
the  woods  and  took  my  dinner  at  the 
Woodville  House. 


63 

How  to  tell  the  time  of  night  by  the 
dipper  or  pointers.  When  you  plume 
your  airship  for  San  Francisco  in  1913, 
go  out  to-night  and  take  your  bearing  on 
the  pointers  to  the  north  star;  they  make 
one  revolution  every  twenty-four  hours. 
One  extra  revolution  every  twelve  months, 
less  two  minutes. 


64 
The  Poet  of  the  Sierras 


They    who    are    taught    in    the    Atlantic 

school 

To  climb  fame's  tottering  tower  by  rule; 
They  will  not  recognize  at  best 
They  have  a  brother  in  the  West ; 
But  he  who  dares  his  breast  to  bare 
To  the  envious  critics  sneer; 
His  sword,  his  shield,  his  coat  of  mail ; 
Is  the  pen  and  desk  where  so  many  fail. 
Our  productive  shores   where   few   have 

tread 

A  world  now  comes  to  us  for  bread. 
We  ask  why  not  some  genius  rise, 
Who  can  commune  with  our  cloudless 

skies. 

But  skies  like  ours  they  have  never  seen. 
And  they  will  hear  from  us  again 
Our  golden  range,  the  laurel  glen, 
Are  fields  so  rare  for  the  poet's  pen. 


65 
The  Confidence  Man. 


My  wife  while  ironing  fell  dead  on  the 

floor, 
The  fire  burned  down  my  house  and  left 

me  out  door 
My  children  are  hungry  and  their  mother 

is  dead; 
I  beg  you  for  money  to  buy  them  some 

bread. 
Although  I  am  a  stranger  and  in  a  strange 

land.     . 
Ere  I  fall  by  the  wayside,  oh,  lend  me  a 

hand. 
Tears  fell  from  our  eyes  like  an  Oregon 

rain. 

As  he  told  his  sad  story  over  again. 
Oh  bring  us  glad  tidings  of  fortunes 

more  kind, 
Tell  not  such  sad  stories  to  prey  on  our 

minds ; 
Sing  songs  of  bright  prospects,  of  wealth 

and  of  fame. 


66 

Of  heroes  still  living  with  no  blot  on  their 

names. 
Aye,  stranger,  beware  of  death's  darkest 

night, 
When  the  wrongs  of  this  world  must  all 

be  made  right. 
When  this  body  lies  mouldering  beneath 

the  cold  clods, 
Instead  of  lying  to  mortals  we  must  tell 

truths  to  the  Gods. 


6; 
The  Boy  Bandit's  Monument. 


He  had  wounded  one  of  our  compan- 
ions, and  rode  away  on  Brown  Alice,  tlie 
pride  of  the  plains.  We  still  had  a  mount 
for  two. 

The  first,  the  fiercest  and  the  best, 
A  splendid  sample  of  the  West. 
And  when  they  reined  their  steeds  in  line 
A  sort  of  chill  would  reach  your  spine. 
He  was  so  fair ;  he  was  so  young, 
The  dark  locks  o'er  his  shoulders  hung  ; 
And  from  the  mildness  of  his  eyes, 
You  might  suspect  a  maid  in  disguise. 
Alert  my  boys,  you  are  now  in  a  land 
Where  the  only  law  is  your  own  strong 

hand. 
On,  on  over  the  hilltop,  down,  down  v\(. 

go, 
Down  on  to  the  plain  where  the  cactus 

grows 
There  is  no  trail.     By  the  tracks  in  the 

sand, 


68 

Instead  of  one  bandit  we  are  pursuing  a 
band. 

O  life,  O  death,  which  will  it  be, 

We  fight,  there  is  no  referee. 

When  the  smoke  cleared  away,  his  com- 
rades had  fled, 

But  the  young  boy  bandit  lay  silent  and 
dead. 

Down  Echo  Canyon  by  the  halfway  rock, 
In  his  lonely  grave  his  body  reposes. 
I  lay  this  wreath  his  fate  to  mock 
Plucked  from  my  garden  of  roses. 


69 
The  County  of  Butte. 


Where  seed  wheat  grows  in  dry  seasun, 

Where  the  hog  never  dies  that  will  root, 
Where  the  orange   tree  blooms   without 
freezing, 

O,  come  to  the  county  of  Butte. 
Reach  out  and  take  things  that  lay  round 
you, 

Sell  the  old  and  buy  things  that  are 

new, 
The  pace  that  we  make  may  astound  you, 

O  come  where  the  clovers  first  grew. 
We  have   harnessed   the  winds   and   the 
waters, 

Two  blades  now  where  one  only  grew, 
The  voice  of  her  sons  and  her  daughters, 

Awake  while  they  are  pleading  to  you. 
In  winter  snows  fall  on  the  mountain, 

In  summer  they  crystal  as  dew 
O,  come  to  the  evergreen  fountain, 

We  all  toss  a  beckon  to  vou. 


Under  the  Christmas  Tree. 


This  emblem  we  have  seen  to-day, 

Was  seen  in  truth  and  sorrow, 
And  some  of  us  who  watch  and  pray, 

May  be  with  Christ  to-morrow. 
Existence  is  a  pleasant  dream, 

When  we  feel  our  sins  forgiven, 

'Tis  seldom  we  meet  here  to  sing, 
'Tis  all  a  song  in  heaven, 

My  race  is  run,  I've  scarce  began. 
The  work  I  see  before  me, 
I've  blazed  the  way  for  some  other  one 

to  build  the  road  to  glory. 
And  when  I'm  floating  on  the  breeze, 

To  the  place  where  God  don't  time  me, 
I'll  only  wonder  who  can  please 

The  world  I  left  behind  me. 


The  River. 

Soft  blows  the  breeze  by  the  river. 

Fanning  imagination  to  a  flame, 
T'was   the   little   running   brook    in   the 
mountains, 

Tis  the  river  in  the  valley  on  the  plain, 
We   have   lived,    we   have   loved   by   the 
river, 

And  our  love  was  not  lavished  in  vain; 
The  song  birds  sing  songs  on  the  river, 

And  our  fancy  reverberates  again, 
Who  would  pollute  the  clear  river, 

Bequeath  it,  no  never  a  stain; 
The  wild  flowers  bloom  on  the  river, 

And  in  season  they  blossom  again. 


When  my  wife  was  visiting  her  sister 
in  the  State  of  Ohio,  she  wrote  such  splen- 
did descriptions  of  her  old  home. 

Sweet   mother,    the   birds    surround   our 

door, 
And  they  sing  their  songs  as  they  sung 

before ; 

These  very  birds  seem  to  recognize, 
You  are  not  in  heaven,  but  in  paradise. 

Aunt  Sarah  Wing  wanted  me  to  write 
a  verse  for  her. 

Dear  sister,  a  song  is  a  flow  of  the  soul, 
'Tis  a  tale  of  love  that's  ne'er  half  been 

told; 

'Tis  the  essence  of  truth, 
'Tis  a  truce  in  the  strife, 
'Tis  a  pleasure  in  youth, 
Dear  sister,  a  song  is  the  triumph  of  life. 


73 
Written  In  My  Daughter's  Album. 


You  ask  me  to  write  you  a   song, 

It  were  wrong  for  me  to  refuse, 
How  glad  I  would  help  you  along, 

So  let  you  this  lesson  peruse ; 
So  in  brief,  when  time  and  grief, 

One  ne'er  waits  on  the  other, 
Has  lain  away  till  the  judgment  clay, 

Your  father  and  your  mother. 
Sometime  in  spring  when  fields  are  green, 

You  will  go  and  seek  your  brother, 
And  say,  O  rare  was  the  paternal  care 

Of  our  father  and  our  mother. 


74 
Written  In  a  Young  Lady's  Album. 


Beauty  and  youth  are  emblems  of  truth, 

How  fondly  we  linger  with  these; 

So  in  old  age  we'll  turn  back  to  youth's 

page 

With  experience  to  teach  and  to  please. 
'Tis  a  lesson  to  learn  that  young  spirits 

may  yearn, 

With  fancies  that  never  can  be ; 
'Tis  the  wish  of  your  friend  that  your 

bark  to  the  end 
Ever  may  float  on  smooth  seas. 


75 
My  Man  With  the  Hoe. 


Where,  O  where,  is  the  poor  man  with 
the  hoe, 

He  has  left  his  fields  and  family  dear, 
Gone  down  the  street  to  play  pedro 

For  a  glass  of  wine  or  Lagerbeer. 
Why,  O  why,  did  the  man  who  found 
him, 

Like  the  fat  cow  go; 
With  his  little  world  around  him, 

And  get  lost  in  the  slums  of  Chicago. 
You  may  sing  of  brotherly  love, 

Of  a  heart  that  goes. out  to  the  poor, 
Yet  genius  despises  a  Muggins, 

And  would  turn  him  away  from  her 
door. 


76 
San  Francisco. 

"Pronounce  what  sea,  what  shore  is  this?" 


San  Francisco,   fair  city  by  the  Golden 

Gate, 

I  saw  thy  Colmans,  Brannans,  all 
Who  made  thee  great  before  thy  fall, 
Did  fate  decree  before  thy  birth, 
That   some  dread   demon  belch   forth   a 

flame 
To  wither,  blast  and  blot  thy  name  from 

off  the  earth; 

May  thy  good  angel  at  thy  second  birth, 
Escort  and  guide  the  more  splendid  far, 
Than  all  the  cities  of  the  earth. 


77 
Miscelaneous. 


Do  the  pine  trees  stand  by  the  mill  now  ? 

Oh,  110,  they  have  passed  away; 
For  the  cycle  of  time  to  their  trunks  have 

been  laid 
And  like  the  old  mill  they  sleep  in  the 

shade 
Of  the  minds  that  are  passing  away. 

Is  the  creek  where  we  swam  gone  dry, 

now  ? 

Oh,  no,  it  is  running  still 
But  it  has  not  the  twists  and  the  turns 

that  it  had 

When  it  ran  the  grand  old  mill. 
The  clam  is  all  gone;  the  buttments  all 

hauled  away, 

And  the  headgates  are  only  a  shadow, 
And  haven't  got  long  to  stay. 

Do  the  wild  flowers  bloom  on  the  hill, 

now  ? 
Oh,  no,  it  is  bare  and  brown. 


But  come  to  the  place  in  the  springtime, 
And  some  pansies  may  be  found. 

Do  the  bluffs  by  the  dam  look  so  high  ? 

Oh,  no,  they  only  look  flat, 
For   I   have   stood   at   the    foot   of   Mt 

Shasta, 

And  these  bluffs  don't  look  high  as  a 
gnat. 

Do  the  girls  that  we  loved  look  so  gay? 
Oh,  no,  who  are  left  are  wrinkled  and 

gray. 

Some  are  mothers  and  some  grandmoth- 
ers, 

While  others   have  passed   away. 
— G.  N.  Blanchard. 


There  are  some  adventures  and  acci- 
dents that,  after  the  danger  is  over,  we 
would  not  have  blotted  from  our  lives. 

On  Pine  Grove  Hill,  Sierra  County,  in 
1854,  I  was  drifting  underground  while 
Dich  Richardson  went  outside  with  a 
wheel-barrow  load  of  gravel.  Our  breast 


79 

caved  in  covering  me  up.  It  was  a  des- 
perate struggle  to  extricate  myself  from 
the  cave.  The  gravel  kept  falling  so  fast 
that  I  didn't  dare  to  run  from  the  cave 
to  the  main  tunnel  forty  feet  away.  I 
was  next  to  solid  bank,  but  I  must  climb 
the  loose  gravel.  I  could  hear  the  rescu- 
ers cheer.  I  am  not  in  danger  of  losing 
my  life.  If  the  cave  don't  go  to  the  sur- 
face fifty  feet  up,  the  rescuers  will  reach 
me  from  the  main  tunnel.  In  three  hours' 
time  it  went  to  the  surface.  I  crawled  out 
of  a  dungeon  and  \valked  in  the  broad 
blazes  of  daylight. 

In  the  Bright  Star,  at  Rowland  Flat,  I 
got  in  the  car  to  go  down  the  incline,  365 
feet  to  the  level  below,  while  the  tender 
pushed  the  car  to  the  slope,  45  feet  pitch. 
The  ram's  horn  hook  came  unhooked,  un- 
noticed by  the  tender.  The  ride  was  a 
whirlwind,  but  I  came  out  unhurt. 

Three  years  ago  when  the  powder 
works  blew  up  on  McKeiver  hill  in  North 


So 

Berkeley,  we  went  up  to  see.  The  police 
were  driving  the  people  back.  There  will 
be  another  explosion  heavier  than  the 
first.  I  fell  in  with  Mr.  Atcheson,  a  Ber- 
keley policeman.  We  lay  behind  a  little 
levee  or  dump.  The  explosion  came.  It 
drove  us  back  like  the  arrow.  I  will  not 
try  to  describe  the  effects  of  the  chemists 
crucibles  over  the  elements.  In  about  ten 
seconds  a  cinder  weighing  about  two 
ounces  hit  me  on  the  head.  Mr.  Atcheson 
led  me  bleeding  away.  Dr.  Hawkins 
said  :  "Yes,  a  glancing  blow.  You  would 
not  have  lived  to  tell  the  tale  had  it  hit 
you  squarely  on  the  head." 

If  you  haven't  a  bank,  start  a  bank  ac- 
count at  once.  The  bank  is  a  necessary 
part  of  our  civilization.  The  bank  is 
where  the  lender  and  borrower  meet.  The 
bank  is  where  the  boom  farmer  goes;  the 
stock  broker ;  in  fact,  every  margin  dealer 
goes  to  the  bank.  Here  are  some  figures 
in  interest.  I  sold  a  squatter's  title  to  a 
quarter  section  of  land  situated  where  the 


8i 

Alameda  County  Hospital  now  stands,  to 
Joseph  C.  J.  Moore,  now  of  Linkville, 
Oregon;  took  his  note  for  $112.00  on 
June  ist,  1854;  interest  at  5  per  cent  per 
month,  compound  monthly.  Here  are  the 
figures : 

I  believe  in  the  old  saying  that  "com- 
petition is  the  life  of  trade."  The  Social- 
ist would  have  you  believe  that  competi- 
tion is  ruining  our  civilization.  When  we 
were  young  men  in  the  mines  in  the 
Sierras  in  the  early  '5o's,  my  partner  and 
I  both  received  letters  from  our  girls  that 
read  nearly  alike.  The  tone  of  our  cor- 
respondence must  now  change.  "I  am 

the  happy  wife  of  Mr. ."     I  said, 

"Sam  has  won  the  prize/'  while  my  part- 
ner, poor  fellow,  he  didn't  believe  in  com- 
petition and  pined  away  and  died.  I 
will  not  venture  a  phophecy  as  to  the 
future  of  our  cities.  I  believe  individual 
effort  will  drive  all  associate  capital  from 
the  field.  I  take  my  hat  off  to  the  young 


82 

men  of  our  country  who  are  digging  the 
irrigation  canals  and  placing  the  family 
on  the  ten-acre  field. 

Where  the  orange  tree  blooms ; 

Where  the  pineapple  grows ; 
Where  the  date  and  the  palm  trees  rise; 

Where  the  tall  peaks  stand 
All  covered  with  snows, 

That  reaches  to  the  skies. 

Our  Sacramento  Valley  home  has  per- 
haps the  most  beautiful  view  in  the  world. 
Ten  miles  north  of  the  Butte  mountains; 
Mt.  Shasta  lies  nearly  two  hundred  miles 
to  the  north;  the  summit  of  the  Coast 
range  lies  nearly  seventy-five  miles  away 
to  the  west ;  while  the  Sierras  lie  nearly 
seventy-five  miles  away  to  the  east.  With 
her  peaks  and  ridges,  Sierra,  Buttes ;  Fir- 
cap  Table  Rock;  Mt.  Fillmore;  Pilot 
Peak;  Lassen  Buttes;  running  north  to 
Mt.  Shasta,  so  the  Coast  range  with  her 
Three  Brothers  in  the  northwest  where 
the  sun  goes  down  in  mid  summer;  with 


<L> 

fj 

M 


84 

her  peaks  and  niches  she  must  pass  and 
re-pass  before  she  returns  next  summer. 
One  would  suppose  old  Sol  would  start 
south  next  day  after  reaching  his  destina- 
tion in  the  north,  but  he  seems  to  linger 
in  one  little  niche  in  the  mountains  for 
several  days.  The  Butte  mountains  lie 
in  the  center  of  the  Sacramento  Valley.  It 
looks  like  the  great  moulder  had  finished 
the  Coast  range  and  started  to  cross  the 
valley  and  had  spilled  them  from  his  ladle. 
All  of  these  mountains  can  be  seen  on  a 
clear  day,  and  we  have  more  clear  days 
than  cloudy  ones.  It  is  clear  to-day,  and 
both  the  Coast  and  Sierras  are  white  with 
snow. 

Man  will  disappoint  you  while  nature 
still  holds  you  in  her  charm. 

I  am  glad  the  young  man  called  my 
name.  I  am  perhaps  the  oldest  inhabitant 
and  ought  to  be  the  best  authority.  I  met 
the  Shaeffers,  Pitts  and  Posies,  on  this 
ridge  more  than  fifty  years  ago, — long  be- 


85 

fore  the  name  of  Biggs.  With  this  splen- 
did hall;  you  have  the  swiftest  fire  com- 
pany on  the  coast;  your  municipal  light 
and  water  supply;  your  splendid  library 
built  with  conscience  money ;  your  palatial 
residences;  and  your  Ladies'  Improve- 
ment Club  that  has  planted  trees  on  every 
line.  But  listen  to  the  other  side. 

We  sometimes  seem  to  sell  our  souls, 
And  while  we  worship  and  weigh  our 

gold, 
We  oft  neglect  our  patriarchs, 

And   bow   and   scrape   to   our   money 
sharks. 

You  have  a  little  republic  forty  by  sixty 
rods,  where  the  majority  is  supposed  to 
rule.  You  have  entered  into  a  combina- 
tion and  the  success  of  that  combination 
depends  upon  the  debauch  of  your  own 
sons.  Your  capitalist  has  built  the  dread 
saloon  with  your  ten  petitioners,  and  each 
petitioner's  name  ought  to  be  written  on 
the  rainbow  in  the  heavens.  You  have 


86 

granted  a  license  to  the  dopist  to  sell  his 
dope.  It  is  unlawful  for  him  to  sell  his 
dope  without  your  license.  You  have  fifty 
dollars  a  month  to  your  share, — a  princely 
sum.  You  have  four  murders  to  your 
share, — four  murders  and  the  midnight 
brawl.  Would  you  have  it  more  ?  There 
is  no  peace.  You  must  fight  for  dope 
or  decency.  You  would  murder  me  for 
what  I  say,  and  I  must  kill  in  self-defense. 
But  why  recount  these  horrors  while  we 
still  have  hope. 

Go   dry   your   town,    thus    scrouged    for 

years ; 

And  dry  your  wives'  and  mothers'  tears. 
No  heartache  then,  nor  grief  nor  groans; 
Nor,  "Mother,  why  don't  pa  come  home?" 

May  loth.  We  have  started  for  the 
Yukon-Seattle  Exposition,  two  hundred 
miles  by  the  wagon  road  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. The  snows  are  melting  in  the 
mountains.  The  flood  waters  have  covered 
the  roads  for  miles.  The  danger  sign  is 


87 

placed  in  the  road.  We  never  take  the 
back  track.  Mounted  on  Radium  Mc- 
Kinney, — my  brother  stays  in  the  buggy, 
—I  ride  out  in  the  flood  waters  one  mile 
to  guard  against  washouts;  return  move 
up  the  buggy;  strip  the  harness  from 
.  Radium ;  ride  another  mile ;  return,  and 
another  and  another.  We  have  reached 
the  bridge.  It  is  dark.  We  are  wet  and 
cold.  Ten  miles  from  Bantas  and  Radium 
is  tired.  We  have  reached  Bantas.  'Tis 
midnight.  The  public  hotel  is  closed  for 
the  day.  My  brother  remembered  a  Mexi- 
can family  where  he  had  been  sheltered 
when  traveling  the  road  before.  We  rap- 
ped at  the  door.  Mother  and  daughter 
are  coon  preparing  our  supper.  Here  is 
the  old  pioneer  Mexican  family  going 
north,  and  the  old  pioneer  American 
family  going  west,  meeting  in  the  desert, 
like  Lew  Wallace's  three  religions.  We 
were  soon  acquainted,  while  we  dined  and 
listened  to  family  lore.  "You  remind  me 
most  of  one  I  knew  so  long  ago.  I  am 


writing  a  book  and  I  would  like  to  have 
your  picture  to  represent  my  girl  in  the 
shipwreck/'  She  turned  to  mother.  "That 
is  all  right.  Give  him  the  little  Gem  you 
had  taken  last/7  In  a  few  minutes  she 
returned  with  the  name  written  on  the 
back  which  she  pronounced,  Jaunita 
Gallego.  What  melody!  How  poetic! 
She  turned  to  mother  again.  "He  is  a 
great  author.  He  is  writing  a  book/' 
Such  childish  innocence,  with  thoughts  as 
pure  as  our  nation's  earliest  intentions.  I 
recalled  Byron's  line :  "O,  never  talk 
again  to  me,  of  northern  climes  nor 
British  ladies." 

And  Wordsworth  line:  "Her  beauty 
made  me  glad"  I  must  paraphrase,  "Her 
beauty  made  me  mad." 

If  I  w^re  to  dedicate  my  little  book,  it 
would  be  to  the  printers.  They  are  effici- 
ent and  clever  people.  How  long  they 
have  been  pestered  with  preachers  and 
poets.  Everyone  depends  upon  the  printer 


89 

for  a  puff.  I  once  wrote  a  poem,  took  it 
to  our  home  paper.  The  editor  was  a 
good  friend  of  mine.  "Oh  yes,  your 
poetry  has  all  the  merits  you  claim  for  it, 
and  I  would  be  glad  to  print  it,  but  my 
exchanges  w^ould  everlastingly  bat  me  for 
printing  home-made  poetry/' 

I  have  passed  the  three  quarter  pole.  I 
have  kept  no  diary ;  never  dipped  my  pen 
in  ink ;  have  lived  an  obscure  life.  I  have 
kept  Byron's  line  in  view,  "He  who  would 
see  the  best  must  be  himself  u-nseen." 
Even  one  of  our  near  neighbors  wanted 
to  know  of  Caroline  the  other  day,  how 
long  she  had  been  a  widow. 

I  have  come  into  the  Gazette  office  in 
classic  Berkeley.  I  am  willing  to  pay  the 
price.  You  will  punctuate,  correct  spell- 
ing and  grammar.  I  kept  a  lookout  for 
the  smile  of  derision.  And  didn't  Mr. 
Herman  Muller  recommend  us  to  the 
Gazette  office — the  manager,  editor,  type- 
writer and  the  printer  ? 


3 

o 

o 

CL 


9* 

Do.,,  and  I  will  bring  our  violins  and 
give  yon  a  sample  of  our  music.  Mr. 
Mathews  didn't  like  to  deny  us.  I  have 
confidence  now,  not  in  myself,  but  in  the 
Gazette  staff. 

I  have  always  taken  a  great  interest  in 
athletic  sports,  the  poetry  of  action.  Look 
at  the  clock  work  of  our  great  national 
game,  baseball ;  a  friendly  bout  with  the 
mits.  I  am  perhaps  the  only  man  living 
that  sparred  with  Yankee  Sullivan.  I 
have  seen  one  modern  prize  fight, — a 
knockout  blow  on  the  solar-plexus.  How 
could  they  have  the  heart  to  play  so 
cruel  ? 

After  our  alliance  with  Captain 
Thompson  and  Captain  McFailand  we 
often  ran  foot  races,  hopped  and  wrestled. 

England,  Ireland  and  Scotland  have 
been  one  government  for  300  years.  They 
are  as  distinct  as  they  were  300  years  ago. 
The  Englishman  believes  he  is  the  biggest 
pebble  on  the  beach.  He  don't  believe  in 
anything  but  law.  I  always  had  the  best 


results  where  there  is  no  law.  I  read  an 
account,  a  few  years  ago,  of  three  Eng- 
lishmen who  were  blown  to  sea  in  a  small 
boat.  They  were  about  to  starve  to 
death.  They  concluded  to  try  the  can- 
nibal plan.  Two  were  made  into  steak. 
The  wind  veered, — the  other  fellow  came 
home,  told  his  story;  they  arrested  him; 
tried  him  before  a  jury;  found  him  guilty 
of  double  murder  and  hung  him.  In 
concert,  Alice  Lisle  and  Elizabeth  Gaunt. 

Oh  why  sing  the  praises  of  waves  and 

blazes? 
Oh  why  sing  the  praises  of  blazes  and 

waves  ? 
The  blazes  and  waves  brought  us  to  our 

graves. 

So  with  our  train.  Captain  McFar- 
land  was  the  law.  We  were  rivals  still, 
Doc  was  the  champion  wrestler,  and 
champion  rifle  shot,  and  killed  the  first 
buffalo. 

P.  R.  Welch  was  the  swiftest  runner. 


The  Champion  Wrestler. 


94 

Harry  Woodruff  was  drowning-  in  the 
icy  waters  of  the  Upper  Colorado.  Lymaii 
swam  in  and  saved  his  life.  Ed.  Harris 
and  Bender  ran  down  the  boy  bandit.  All 
of  these  belong  to  the  Lewis  wing. 

Captain  McFarland  was  a  grand  man. 
In  all  of  my  travels  I  never  saw  a  man 
better  fitted  for  the  difficult  position.  I 
stood  by  when  he  delivered  the  lecture  to 
Mr.  Button. 

"Reed  Dutton  left  Independence,  Ohio, 
for  California  in  February,  1860.  His 
family  consisted  of  his  wife,  Emily, 
Lucelia  and  Lucina  Dutton,  Albert 
Warren  and  Frank  Dutton.  They  all  ar- 
rived safely  at  Tomales,  Marin  Co.,  in 
October  of  the  same  year. 

The  Reed  Dutton  family  had  a  very 
narrow  escape  from  massacre  while  cross- 
ing Nevada.  Late  one  afternoon  he 
dropped  behind  the  train  to  repair  his 
wagon,  and  it  was  dusk  before  he  re- 
sumed his  journey.  He  had  not  gone  far 
when  a  shot  was  fired.  He  whipped  ur> 


95 

his  horses  and  succeeded  in  getting  out 
of  range.  The  train  also  heard  the  shot 
and  sent  aid.  An  examination  showed 
that  the  bullet  struck  the  end  of  the  single 
tree  of  the  wheel  horse,  splitting  it.  Mr. 
Dutton  was  summoned  before  the  captain 
that  evening*  and  given  a  good  lecture, 
and  was  informed  that  he  must  either 
keep  up  with  the  train  or  drop  out  all 
together.  It  it  needless  to  add  that  he 
kept  up  with  the  procession  after  the 
episode."  ALBERT  DUTTON. 

Mr.  Dutton  had  allowed  himself  to 
straggle  behind  and  was  fired  on  by  the 
Indians  from  ambush. 

It  was  at  the  head  waters  of  the  Hum- 
boldt  River  a  few  days  after  that  we  had 
left  our  favorite  cow.  After  we  struck 
camp.  Doc  and  I  rode  back  four  miles 
to  try  to  nurse  her  in  camp.  While  we 
were  hunting  around  among  the  willows 
we  came  within  50  yards  of  one  hundred 
or  more  Indians  making  a  barbacue  of 


96 

our  cow.  Of  course  we  didn't  dispute 
ownership. 

Captain  Thompson  was  no  less  a  dis- 
ciplinarian, but  for  myself  it  was  more 
like  shipping  chickens  by  the  carload  and 
turning  them  loose  in  the  car. 

The  influence  exerted  on  our  state  by 
the  people  of  the  "Big  Train"  as  it  was 
called,  will  never  be  known.  I  must  men- 
tion a  little  romance  that  happened  with 
one  family.  Mr.  Parker,  a  young  man, 
his  wife  and  babe, — a  little  girl  six 
months  old, — they  had  just  settled  down 
in  a  quiet  home.  Mr.  Parker  had  some 
difficulty  with  another  man.  While  de- 
fending his  honor,  the  man  lost  his  life. 
Mr.  Parker  preferred  the  woods  to  the 
decision  of  a  jury.  Mrs.  Parker  and  the 
babe  waited.  No  word  or  sign.  Mrs. 
Parker  again  married.  Twenty  years. 
Three  camp  fires  on  Wood  River,  Idaho. 
Doc  has  never  left  the  trail.  This  re- 
minds me  of  crossing  the  plains.  What 
year?  1860;  Captain  McFarland's  train. 


97 

Lewis,  oh,  yes,  I  remember.  The  situa- 
tion seemed  awkward,  but  Doc  has  long 
since  learned  not  to  ask  a  direct  question. 
The  little  babe  on  the  plains  is  now  a 
beautiful  young  woman.  Mrs.  Parker 
seems  to  have  two  husbands.  The  riddle 
is  solved  when  Mr.  Parker  and  Mrs. 
Reamer  recognize  each  other.  I  will 
leave  it  to  themselves.  The  fact  is,  of  the 
three  camp  fires,  one  is  Parker's ;  one  is 
Reamer's;  and  one  is  Doc's.  Did  I 
digress  ?  When  I  began  this  page  I  called 
up  the  athlete.  Near  Rainville,  Indiana, 
in  the  dooryard  of  the  old  Brown  home, 
there  stands  two  stakes  fifty-six  feet  apart, 
placed  there  by  Mr.  Brown's  neighbors 
nearly  70  years  ago.  The  ground  is  level 
and  Mr.  Brown  covered  the  distance, 
three  hops  back  and  forward.  We  had  no 
athletic  clubs.  I  say  to  the  athletes  of  to- 
day, "Go  hop  fifty-six  feet,  running  start, 
and  we  will  treat  with  you."  Mr.  Brown's 
contour  was  of  the  kangaroo,  but  nothing 
like  deformitv.  His  features  were  like 


98 

the  Jew.  He  seemed  a  Jew  without  the 
commercial  tact.  His  eyes  were  dark ; 
brows  were  black  and  heavy  as  the  buf- 
falo's mane.  He  lived  on  his  eighty-acre 
farm  with  his  young  wife  and  two  babes. 
He  did  not  follow  the  plow  nor  engage  in 
any  manual  labor.  He  lived  by  the  chase. 
In  fact  he  was  known  as  "hound  John 
Brown."  He  was  never  known  to  have  a 
hound  that  would  take  the  back  track.  It 
is  a  fact  in  nature  that  there  is  once  in  a 
while  a  hound  that  will  take  the  back 
track.  While  the  author  of  Ben  Hur  was 
taking  his  first  lessons  in  the  little  red 
school  house  on  the  east  bank  of  the 
Wabash,  John  Brown  was  making  a  rec- 
ord that  was  to  astonish  the  athlete 
world. 

The  McDade  brothers  were  school- 
mates of  Lew  Wallace.  In  Newtown, 
Fountain  County,  Indiana,  no  one  ever 
knew  from  whence  Mr.  Brown  came. 
He  might  have  been  a  second  son  of  some 
great  English  landed  estate  who  did  not 


99 

like  the  entailment  laws.  So  our  own 
entailment  laws.  By  will  we  tie  up  God's 
green  earth.  For  generations  the  Stan- 
ford will  to  the  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  Uni- 
versity establishes  the  rent  system  for 
thousands  of  acres  of  our  fair  state.  The 
same  fate  that  builds  such  splendor  in 
San  Mateo  creates  a  wilderness  in  Butte. 


Young  reader,  if  in  these  rambling  lines 
I  have  told  some  facts  or  said  some  things 
that  made  you  glad,  I  will  be  glad. 


IOO 

The  Old-Time  Fiddlers. 


(From  the  Woman's   Home  Companion.) 

On  the  low  hills  that  hedge  in  the 
swamp  stretches  of  the  Illinois  Kankakee ; 
in  the  valley  of  Indiana's  Lost  River;  in 
the  Wisconsin  woodlands,  and  in  the 
Kentucky  bluegrass  pastures  are  found 
the  homes  of  the  old-time  fiddlers.  There 
are  no  young-  fiddlers  in  this  middle-wes- 
tern country.  The  young  fiddlers  are  all 
violinists;  save  the  mark!  This  land  of 
prairie,  pasture  and  forest  was  prolific  of 
fiddlers.  Their  race  is  nearing  its  end, 
and  when  it  is  fairly  run  a  regret  will 
linger  in  the  hearts  of  those  who  know 
these  ancient  players,  like  that  felt  when 
the  strains  of  one  of  their  pathetic  melo- 
dies passes  from  fiddle  and  bow. 

There  are  enough  of  them  left,  how- 
ever, to  make  up  goodly  gatherings  twice 
a  year  in  different  parts  of  their  home 
states,  when  they  meet  to  engage  in  hon- 


101 

ored  "old  fiddlers"  contests.  These  con- 
tests smack  of  the  Western  soil.  They 
are  peculiar  to  the  prairie  country  and  to 
a  small  part  of  Kentucky  and  Wisconsin. 
The  old  snowy-headed  men  who  compete 
for  prizes  at  these  meetings  have  no  new 
music.  Their  tunes  in  the  main  have  been 
handed  down  to  them,  father  to  son,  from 
the  days  when  the  first  tide  of  humanity 
swelled  over  the  Allegheny  Mountains 
and  spread  to  the  land  beyond.  The 
quality  of  their  music  is  Nature's  own. 
Through  it  all  the  cardinal  whistles,  the 
quail  calls  and  the  tufted  titmouse  pipes. 


BANCROTI 

LIBRARY 


IO2 

My  California. 


California  with  her  songs  of  the  Ocean, 
Pronounced  by  the  waves  of  the  Sea; 
I  linger  a  time  in  devotion, 
Then  drew  a  rein  for  mountain  and  tree. 

Refrain : 

O,  the  winds  and  the  waves  with  their 

bluster, 

In  winter  as  cold  as  neglect. 
A  summer's  sun  still  sheds  his  soft  luster, 
Tho  many's  the.  ship  they  have  wrecked. 

Protected  by  the  Solons  of  a  nation, 
Tall  Sequoias  majestically  stand. 
Tall  fir  trees  take  up  their  station— 
A  wild  wood,   fantastically  grand. 

Refrain : 

Through  the  wild  wood  long  ago  where 

we  wandered 
I  loved  her — she  said  she  loved  me. 


103 

Life's  springtime  together  we've  squan- 
dered. 

The  pale  moon  now  shines  down  through 
the  trees. 

Where   the   sunbeam   reaches    clown   his 

long  fingers 

'Tis  noonday,  yet  matchless  as  morn. 
'Tis  noonday— yet  twilight  still  lingers, 
Like  sunset  when  time  was  first  born. 

Refrain : 

Through  the  wildwood  long*  ago  where 
we  wandered, 

I  loved  her — she  said  she  loved  me. 

Life's  springtime  together  we've  squan- 
dered. 

The  pale  moon  now  shines  down  through 
the  trees. 

Where  loves  are  so  rare  and  requited 
O  land  where  the  poppies  first  grew 
To  youths  that  were  fair,  were  united 
This,  this  is  the  land  of  the  few. 


IO4 
Refrain : 

Through  the  wildwood  long  ago  where 
we  wandered. 

I  loved  her — she  said  she  loved  me. 

Life's  springtime  together  we've  squan- 
dered. 

The  pale  moon  now  shines  down  through 
the  trees. 

Turn  backward — turn  back  to  the  ocean, 
Where  wave  chases  wave  on  the  sand. 
A  song  of  perpetual  motion 
As  they  rolled  on  when  time  first  began. 

Refrain : 

O,  the  winds  and  the  waves  with  their 

bluster 

In  winter  as  cold  as  neglect. 
A  summer's  sun  still  sheds  his  soft  luster 
Tho  many's  the  ship  they  have  wrecked. 


My  Yosemite. 


High  terraced  walls  of  rock  and  tree 
Here  are  the  Falls  of  Yosemite 
A  very  mine  of  mystery 
You  almost  feel  that  you  have  flown 
From  some  old  world  and  this  is  Heaven 
and  all  your  own. 

Take  no  pen  picture  of  the  place 

Enough  to  wander  here  to  trace 

The  Alpine  features  of  her  face 

El  Capitan,  a  name  given  by  man 

The  angeles  call  the  sentinel 

To  guard  the  secrets  of  this  dell 

And  to  watch  and  hold  as  you  would  hold 

The  very  secrets  of  your  soul 

I  look  in  vain  for  Indian  name  or  scroll 

Of  cryptic  song  or  any  sign 

Of  prince  or  princess  who  had  come  to 

behold 

And  worshipped  at  thy  shrine 
IVrchance  Wawona  came  this  way 
To  celebrate  her  nuptial  clay 


io6 

Like  Princess  Lallala  upon  another  throne 
The  name  of  her  lover  chief  may  ne'er  be 

known 

I  sing  my  simple  song,  of  thee 
To  those  who  loved  thee 
And  to  those  who  ne'er,  like  me,  shall 

chance  to  wander  here. 

(Lone  Oak.) 


iGONAUT  OF 
PARADISE  GOES 
TO  S.F.  PORTOLA 


LN  FRANCISCO,  Oct.  6.— Captain 
is  has  come  to  town  for  the  Porto- 
iaptain  John  I.  Lewis  is  his  name  in 

and  he  lives  at  Paradise,  Butte 
ity.  He  is  seventy-nine  years  old, 
he  just  couldn't  resist  the  call  of 
carnival.  He  says  so  himself. 
*  is  a  retired  rancher,  but  he  is 
3  V-esides.  For  one  thing-  he  is  doub- 
pioneer — he  came  across  the  plains 
e  by  ox  team.  For  another,  he  was 
se  friend  of  Joaquiri  Miller  and  one 
is  most  cherished  memetoes  is  a 
ograph  of  himself  taken  at  Miller's 

at  the  latter's  home  at  "The 
iits."  And  besides,  he  is  a  cham- 

fiddler.  Fiddler  is  the  term — not 
nist.  Captain  Lewis  has  taken  first 
js  at  the  State  Fair -with  his  fiddle 
is  proud  of  it. 

5  called  at  the  Portola  headquar- 
to  say  that  he  was  ready  to  do  all 
mid  to  help  make  the  October  cel- 
tion  a  big-  success.  He  pulled  up  in 
:  of  the  Underwood  building,  where 
lesta  headquarters  are,  in  a  little 

wagon,  which  he  uses  when  on  the 
—and  that  is  a  good  part  of  the 

He  sleeps  in  the  open,M  making  his. 
quarters  in  his  rig;    and  incident- 
to  this  habit  he  attributes  his  lon- 

y. 


Captain  Lewis  is  a  bit  of  a  poet.  He 
has  published  a  little  volume  of  verse 
j  which  he  likes  to  give  to  his  friends. 
In  homely  rhyme  he  has  expressed  his 
love  of  the  open-  West,  as  it  was  known 
to  the  bygone  generation;  and  in  it, 
under  the  title  of  "My  Garden  of  Ro- 
ses." he  has  told  his  life  history,  as  in- 
teresting a  story  as  any  to  be  found  in 
Bret  Harte. 

After  paying  San  Francisco  a  brief 
visit  he  went  to  San  Jose,  to  visit  his 
son,  W.  L.  Lewis.  He  will  stay  there  a 
few  days  and  then  come  back  to  the 
city  for  the  Portola. 

Up  in  Butte  county  he  has  four  other 
sons;  and  it  would  be  hard  to  tell 
whether  he  is  prouder  of  any  of  his  va- 
ried attributes  than  he  is  of  his  fam- 
ily. 


CAPTAIN  JOHN  LEWIS, 


Captain  John  I.  Lews,  whose  home  is 
at  Paradise,  Butte  county,  has  come 
here  for  the  Admission  Day  festivities. 
He  has  his  own  conveyance,  and  drove 
all  the  way  to  Santa  Rosa.  Captain 
Lewis  is  an  interesting  man,  and  is  a 
pioneer  of  '53.  He  came  here  to  "see 
the  boys,"  he  says.  The  Captain  is  an 
author,  and  has  with  him  a  very  neat 
little  illustrated  booklet  entitled,  "My 
i^n  of  Roses."  It  tells  of  pioneei 
nd  will  be  read  with  Interest, 
paid  the  Press  Democrat 
uit  call  on  thursda^' 


iwr 


INEER  WO;    •  ',  ARE 

yisi;,  /  BY  LEWIS. 


Time  Fiddler  Afldslesl  to 
Virginia  Reel. 


though  not  officially  declared  by 
press  or  management  of  the  Fair, 
ladies  of  the  Pioneer  booth  took 
)on  themselves  last  evening-  to  de- 
3  for  a  revival  of  the  Pioneer's 
which  was  the  feature  of  last 
nesday  evening,  and  the  result  was 
greatest  of  possible  successes. 
st  was  added  to  the  occasion  by 
presence  of  Captain  John  I.  Lewis, 
Idler  the  days  of  '49,  who  fur- 
3d  music  for  many  a  mining  town 
e  hall  in  that  good  old  time.  The 
ain  brought  his  fiddle  witli  him 
played  for  a  Virginia  reel,  while 
ladies  and  small  f  the  booth 

ed   and   he  tapp          n  .e   with   the 
of  his^owhide  1 


Captain  a   musician 

,.    no    mem    consequence,    but    he    is 

I  also    a    poet,    and    through    his    book 

i  "My    Garden    of    Roses/     has    won    a 

statewide  reputation.     He  was  a  very 

close   friend    of   Joaquin    Miller   and    a 

notable   member   of   California's    earli- 

est literary  colony. 

He  is  now  approaching  his  eightieth 
birthday.  He  has  a  clear  blue  eye  and 
a  long  white  bard,  just  enough  tang- 
gle  to  hint  at  earner  and  hardier  days. 
Lewis  makes  strenuous  objection  to  be- 
ing termed  a  "violinist."  He  declares 
himself  a  "fiddler';  of  the  old  school. 
He  will  have  non^Br  the  catchy  tunes 
of  the  day,  but  is  well  satisfied  with 
the  good  old  airs  that  our  grandmoth- 
ers knew. 

In    an    old  -  time    fiddlers    contest    in 

:onnection    with    the      Pioneers'      Day 

conducted    by    Miss    Kathryn    Cole    at 

the    State    Pair    a    year    ago,    Captain 

Lewis  won  first  prize 


HUNTS  GOLD, 


"ant.   John   Lewis   ..^,^ 
«n    Trip    Through   Ixu 

Capt-  ;n    John    i.    Lew 
>St    has    reached    San 

S.^ 


:>hr>  T,  Lewis,  who  wo-ri  _u  101  ^. 
led  Jack  Barton,  i  Pov/litz  prairie 
'•one  years  ago  and  went  down  the 
rlitz  river  on  hia  way  to  California  in 
anoe  laden  with  wheat,  paying  his 
the  same  as  on  a  steamboat,  was  in 
city  last  Sunday  on  his  way  home 
a  Seattle.  He  now  lives  at  Biggs-,-  in 
te  County,  California.  He  -was 
itly  impressed  with  the  way  this  re- 
i  has  improved  since  he  last  saw  it, 
-e  than  half  a  centuary  ago.  He  is 
ing  a  little  booK  which  he  wrote  some 
e  ago,  and  says  he  is  having  the  time 
tiis  life.  He  is  accompanied  by  a 


> POETRY 

F"rom   Wag-- 
-f   Valleys. 

v    pioneer  of 
sco    again 
""on  on  th 
.o      and     Sa 

y^ars    old,    and 


ings— thing  of  beauty  and  poetry 
and  says  that  he  would  not  exchan^' 
his  wealth  with  Rockefeller.  •. 

He    Is    on    his    way    to    visit    his    old 

!ew°aoems  MlUer    and    submlt    to ' 
book,   "^l^^f  (TJn6  o?  RoaeJ?'*  M* 


X'* 

m 


